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by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst and Porn, Character Death, Drabble, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, NSFW, One Shot, Short One Shot, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Enjolras, Spy Grantaire, guys I wrote a sex scene (well kinda) can u believe it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8909902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ‘We’ll get out of this,’ Enjolras says, for what must be the fiftieth time. ‘If you’re saying that because you have secret rocket launchers somewhere, tell me now. But if you’re saying that because you’re just hopeful – ’ A very angsty (and slightly smutty) piece of ER I wrote the other night.





	

Grantaire is more than used to missions going wrong. He’s made the worst mistakes at the worst times, had to improvise in all manner of ways against horrific odds. Éponine says that he’s lucky to have survived all those times. He’s not. If he were lucky, those things wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

It’s probably fate, then, that he’s partnered with Enjolras so often. The guy’s practically blessed: the number of times he’s been in something impossible, come out guns blazing _and lived_ is nothing short of incredible.

(What it also is is annoying. Invincibility in anyone would be irritating, but Enjolras manages to make it insufferable. Maybe it’s the insinuation that he’s somehow intrinsically better, and that’s why his luck is so good.)

That said, right now he wouldn’t mind Enjolras’s famous luck kicking in. Grantaire doesn’t like to be overly dramatic, but it’s probably the only thing that can save them.

 

 

‘We’re going to die,’ Grantaire says. It’s a thought that’s occurred to him before, in plenty of situations, but this time – well, this time he means it. There is only so long you can spend trapped in a storm cellar with only a reinforced door between you and your enemies before the pessimistic thinking kicks in.

‘No, we’re not,’ Enjolras sighs. ‘And I wish you’d stop saying that.’

‘I’m saying it because it’s true,’ Grantaire responds, in what’s really a very mild tone of voice, given their predicament. Perhaps he shouldn’t, but he can’t help wishing he’d been partnered with somebody else. If he were with Éponine or Bahorel or hell, even Joly, they would see things from his perspective and agree. Angrily, sadly, whatever, but they’d know he was right.

Enjolras, of course, never thinks Grantaire is right. Even when the evidence is heavily piled in his favour.

‘We’ll get out of this,’ Enjolras says, for what must be the fiftieth time.

‘If you’re saying that because you have secret rocket launchers somewhere, tell me now. But if you’re saying that because you’re just hopeful – ’

‘Calm down,’ Enjolras says, maddeningly. Even covered in dried sweat and blood, he looks great. The bastard. Both of them are dressed for combat, but Enjolras’s hair is spilling down into his eyes, the blond curls standing out against his dark brown skin. ‘We’ve been in bad situations before. We always get out.’

‘How are we going to get out of this, then?’ Grantaire sits down on a packing crate. ‘We were specifically told that we were going in without backup and if anything went wrong it would be on us. I’ve still got radio contact with Ép but she can’t do anything. The others are all out on assignments. Please explain to me what _deus ex machina_ is going to save us.’

‘ _Something_ will.’ Enjolras sets his jaw. ‘Something has to.’

And that’s Enjolras’s problem. He’s got too much damn faith in the world. That’s what luck gets you: that ridiculous confidence that somehow everything is going to work out.

‘Yeah, see, _nothing_ has to. We aren’t owed anything. The universe probably ran out of favours to grant you right after designing your face.’

‘Mature.’ Enjolras’s countenance bears no sign that he even registered the compliment.

‘Why won’t you accept it? Are you so hopeful about humanity that you think when they get through the door they’ll just let us go?’

‘Why are you so determined to think the worst?’ Enjolras leans forward. He’s still got that energy, emanating from him like a light. Which probably makes Grantaire a moth or something. A moth with singed wings and an alcohol habit. Cliché yet fitting.

He shrugs. ‘Because I know what’s going to happen. It’ll take them, what, an hour to get through the door? And even then only ‘cause they don’t have the equipment. I’ve got one whole bullet left, that’ll do us a world of good. They’ll probably shoot me and torture you for what you know. So forgive me if I’m not going to _calm down.’_

‘What’s your approach, then? Give up? _That’s_ when you die.’ Enjolras says it so forcefully it’s almost convincing. Almost. ‘If every time it gets difficult you roll over and give up, then they do win. But if you take a stand – ’

Grantaire can’t listen to this. ‘It’s not always enough. Sometimes, yes, but not always. Just _trying_ isn’t enough.’

‘So we don’t try at all?’

‘We _have_ tried. Where have you been all night?’ he shakes his head. This conversation is like pushing a boulder up a hill. Enjolras doesn’t want to understand, so he never will. Maybe Grantaire doesn’t want Enjolras to understand either. If he truly believed that there was no hope, that this was the end – then he wouldn’t be Enjolras.

Maybe a different approach was in order.

‘Maybe you don’t get it, ‘cause you’re good at things. Stuff _does_ work out for you. The going gets tough but ultimately moral integrity wins out.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘Do you know why I became an agent?’

Enjolras raises his eyebrows. ‘Because you can still shoot straight even when you’re completely hammered?’

‘I was about to be evicted. Before this I had no proper job, definitely no career and just about nothing was going right. And then I run into my scary next-door-neighbour at the bar and we talk and she gets me a job.’

‘Éponine.’

‘I warned her I was useless and she refused to listen to me. Turns out she does that a lot.’

‘That doesn’t prove your point, though.’

‘It’s my story. Of course it proves my point.’

‘No. What you’ve told me only reinforces what I was saying. That things get better.’

‘Evidently not much better, ‘cause if I’d just gone and become a drug dealer I wouldn’t be stuck in this cellar with you.’

Something in Enjolras’s face twitches. God knows why; it’s not as if he’s ever cared about Grantaire’s opinion.

‘Am I really that annoying?’

‘In a word: yes.’

‘You were really thinking about dealing drugs?’

Grantaire lets out a huff that’s at least sixty percent laugh. ‘Not _exactly_. I’d got to the stage where I had to do something illegal, but it wasn’t like I’d picked that out. I still think I’d make an excellent burglar.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘You never asked.’

God, this mission would be so much easier if he were with somebody else. He’s always assumed his end would be of the abrupt or unexpected kind. He never thought he’d get so much anticipation, or that he’d approach his death trying to convince the most stubborn person he knows that it’s actually going to happen.

On the other hand, it does raise the possibility of Enjolras’s face being the last thing he ever sees, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

‘I’ll put it this way,’ he says, ‘I would bet all the money I have on us dying, only I wouldn’t be able to collect from it so I can’t be bothered.’

‘Be serious.’

‘I’m completely serious. You should trust me, I’m very good at telling when bad things are going to happen.’

‘You always expect the worst.’

‘And I am never disappointed.’ He’s getting reckless, now. If this is his last hour on earth and he’s forced to spend it with _Enjolras_ , he may as well say some things that he’d ordinarily regret. ‘I believe that we’re going to die. Completely and absolutely.’

‘You’re overreacting.’

‘Let me demonstrate how serious I am. I’ll tell you something I thought I never would.’ This is dangerous territory, but then it’s not more dangerous than being trapped by armed gunmen who are slowly but surely hacking their way through the cellar door. ‘I have feelings for you. I always have. I’ve spent countless nights complaining to other people about how good-looking you are. When I first met you, I deliberately asked to be assigned to missions if I knew you were going to be on them. I looked up your interests so that I could talk to you about them. Practically every moment when you are not looking at me I’ve been staring at you.’

Enjolras’s face tightens. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘Why? Is my unrequited affection embarrassing?’ It’s nice to be able to hurt him with this, when his feelings have been bruised for so long.

‘You’re only saying it because you think we’re going to die.’

‘We _are_ going to de. And I live to argue with you, but this is not something we should argue about.’

‘If you love me, why do you act like I’m your least favourite person?’

Grantaire shrugs. ‘Otherwise you might guess.’

‘Well, it worked.’

There’s a short silence. It’s much more awkward than Grantaire anticipated. Perhaps he could have waited a little longer before dropping that bombshell.

Éponine comes to his rescue. Sadly not his literal rescue, even though that would make him look an idiot after being so confident that they’re going to die. His radio crackles beeps and he hurries to answer it.

‘Éponine?’

‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to cut this connection. Orders.’

‘Could you tell Enjolras we’re not going to make it? He won’t believe me.’

Another pause, and then: ‘I’m sorry.’

Enjolras’s face is inscrutable, which is how Grantaire knows he’s upset. The rest of the time, Enjolras’s features are an open window to his brain.

Grantaire can’t look at him, so he speaks into the radio instead. ‘You take care, Ép. If… when your brother finds out, tell him something really cool. With flamethrowers and tanks.’

‘Yeah. I really am sorry. R.’

The radio beeps again, signaling that the call is over. Grantaire doesn’t mean to drop it, but the next second it’s on the floor and the plastic has cracked.

He turns to Enjolras. ‘Do you believe me now?’

Enjolras kisses him. Fully, properly kisses him, leaning forward across the crate and placing his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders.

Grantaire, in a move that indicates serious self will, pulls away. (Seriously, Enjolras kisses as well as somebody who looks like him should. Grantaire deserves a fucking _medal._ )

‘What are you doing?’

‘It’s not obvious?’

‘So now you’re aware of your impending mortality you’re looking for a distraction? I mean, I know what I told you was kinda personal and bordering on oversharing, but that doesn’t give you a licence to – ’

‘I do love you,’ Enjolras says, in a rush, like for once he hasn’t rehearsed what words to say. ‘I’ve loved you when you’re angry and when you’re sad and even sometimes when you’re drunk. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t ever think you felt the same way. Everything you say to me is either rude or sarcastic.’

Grantaire just stares. This is the worst possible time that this revelation could happen. ‘You waited till _now_ to tell me this?’

‘Hypocrite, much?’

OK, he’s got a point. ‘And you’re not kidding?’

‘No.’ Enjolras tilts his head. ‘Do you want me to be?’

‘Not at all.’ It’s Grantaire who leans in this time, pressing his mouth against Enjolras’s. And Christ, he’s never felt anything so good. It could be because he hasn’t kissed anyone for so long or because he’s kissing _Enjolras_ and wait yes it’s definitely the second one.

It doesn’t seem to take very long before he’s practically sat on Enjolras’s lap. They’re like teenagers who have been waiting for time alone or something equally disgusting. Whatever they are, it doesn’t matter because his heart is going a million miles an hour and he has Enjolras’s tongue in his mouth.

Maybe they’re dead already, and this is heaven.

Enjolras’s hands slide up Grantaire’s back, underneath his gear, warm against his skin. Grantaire shivers and presses himself closer. His own hands are resting against Enjolras’s shoulders, he slides one of them up his neck to brush against his jawline.

Enjolras tastes like grime and sweat. The kiss gets faster, increasing in urgency. A few more seconds and they’ve lost all semblance of gentleness, grabbing at each other, trying to forget themselves in each other.

‘Wait a second.’ Enjolras moves back a little. It’s inconvenient that he’s stopped now, as Grantaire is definitely hard and there’s no way Enjolras won’t notice. ‘We could… Do you want to? I mean…?’

‘We’re going to die,’ Grantaire reminds him. ‘In about fifty minutes.’

‘OK. Yes. Death. All right.’ Enjolras half shoves him off his lap. ‘Move.’

Grantaire stands. Enjolras does too. A moment later and they’re kissing again, up against a wall. That’s even better, Enjolras is practically pinning Grantaire in place. Their bodies are crushed together; there is no space for anything but each other. If a death sentence is what it takes to get them into this situation, perhaps it is worth it. Hell, anything is worth this.

Enjolras moves away from Grantaire’s lips to press light kisses along his jaw, drifting down to his neck and collarbone. Grantaire feels the sharp tug of teeth and sucks in his breath. His hips buck forward, pressing even more firmly against Enjolras. Enjolras responds just as enthusiastically, letting go of Grantaire’s collarbone to kiss him long and hard on the lips. Then Enjolras’s hands begin to move again, tracing their way down Grantaire’s chest, to his hips, and then coming to a pause by the zip of his trousers.

‘Are you sure?’ Enjolras asks, breaking the kiss momentarily.

Grantaire’s breathing is ragged. ‘Oh God yes.’

Enjolras unzips the trousers and a second later Grantaire loses all ability to form coherent thought. He can feel Enjolras’s fingers around him, gently caressing and stroking him, and he lets out a shuddering breath. Enjolras grins and leans forward to kiss him lightly before bobbing his head down and suddenly it’s his mouth and not his hands that’s around Grantaire.

 _Oh fucking hell_ , Grantaire thinks. It’s all he can manage. He drops one hand down to rest in Enjolras’s hair, running his fingers along his scalp and pulling the curls into bunches. Enjolras is maintaining an even pressure, and holy fuck the things he can do with his tongue are incredible.

Grantaire closes his eyes and decides that dying is a small price to pay for this.

 

 

With an estimated ten minutes left, Grantaire finds himself sitting on the floor with his head on Enjolras’s shoulder. He’s thinking again, which is bad news. Thinking in this kind of situation is always bad news. But from a practical standpoint, one of them has to be sensible and it doesn’t look like it’s going to be Enjolras.

(At the moment in question, Enjolras is almost asleep. Worn out, Grantaire thinks, and smiles to himself.)

Still, there is just a handful of things that Grantaire knows for certain. Firstly, that fucking Enjolras did not stop time, even if it felt that way. Secondly, that it’s not going to be long until the door is beaten in and the two of them taken prisoner. He can already picture it. They’ll probably shoot him; he’s not the important one. But they won’t just kill Enjolras, they’ll hurt him first. He’s got more knowledge than most of the other agents they’ve caught put together. If they can get him to speak, they’ll have landed on a goldmine.

Of course, Enjolras will not say anything. His reputation exists for a reason. If there is anything more implausible than him having feelings for Grantaire, it’s him talking.

(Which prompts an unworthy thought to pop into Grantaire’s head: what if Enjolras, who’s routinely ignored him only to confess attraction, who’s been misleading him all this time, _does_ talk? Or what if they find a way to make him? If they hurt Grantaire instead and force Enjolras to watch, could that break him?)

No. They won’t do that; they have no reason to suspect that the two agents share any connection beyond working together. Nor are they familiar with Enjolras’s rigid ethical code by which he would never allow somebody else to suffer on his behalf. So he won’t talk, and that will cost him. Grantaire can’t even imagine the things they’ll do to him before they decide that it’s no use and finally kill him. If they ever do.

That’s when another thought pops into his head. He’s got the power to stop that from happening. Not through some fantastic rescue or dazzling display of heroism, but with an act that’s, well, cowardly.

Enjolras would never be a coward, not even to save himself. It would require giving up, not in the way most people do but in the way Grantaire is familiar with. That kind of despair is all-consuming and overwhelming, it’s bleeding out all over the kitchen because it’s too much effort to find a band-aid.

Grantaire will have to kill him before the door breaks.

Will he hate himself? That’s not even a question. For the whole five minutes he’ll outlive Enjolras by, Grantaire will despise himself more than anything or anyone. But the alternative is worse. All he has to do is picture Enjolras beaten and bleeding, tortured for information he’ll never relinquish, and his resolve is strengthened.

How fucked up is that, when killing the man he loves is the kindest thing he can think of?

It’s not as if he could convince Enjolras do it himself. Not when there’s only one bullet. He could probably be persuaded about suicide being defiant – robbing their captors of victory – but he would never leave unless Grantaire could come too.

The gun is still on the packing crate, a couple of metres away. Next to Grantaire, Enjolras stirs.

‘Are you all right?’ he mutters, lacing his fingers through Grantaire’s.

‘As much as I ever am.’ He’s got to do this. He can’t waver. Shaking his hand free from Enjolras’s, he rises slowly. ‘Do you trust me?’

Enjolras blinks and sits up straighter. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I love you,’ Grantaire says. ‘You’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’m thinking about how tragic it is that we’re going to die before we can have more sex.’

‘What are you doing?’ Enjolras repeats, getting to his feet.

Grantaire takes another step backwards and picks up the gun.

‘Grantaire, no!’

‘I love you,’ he says again. ‘More than anything or anyone.’

He aims and shoots in one fluid motion, without giving him time to think or second-guess.

 

Enjolras falls with a strange expression on his face. Grantaire, usually so good at deciphering his emotions, can’t tell whether it’s shock or hurt or understanding. Not that it matters what Enjolras feels anymore, because there is no Enjolras.

Grantaire drops the gun, the same way he had the radio. Another thing that’s useless now. A thin line of blood runs down from the circular hole in Enjolras’s forehead. Grantaire’s seen people die before, and yet it still feels inconceivable that everything Enjolras is and was is gone. Gone because he took it.

And Enjolras loved him. Loved him for a long time, but never said anything because Grantaire met him with sarcasm at every turn. God, if they’d just worked that out sooner. They could be in Barbados right now, on one of those disgusting couple holidays. Or maybe they were always meant to end up here, in this cellar. Would that be worse, if they’d had a chance to love each other longer and died anyway?

Grantaire slumps to his knees. It doesn’t matter what happened in alternate universes. In this one Enjolras is lying dead on the floor and Grantaire will never argue with him again.

Behind him, the door trembles. When they break through it, perhaps they’ll think Grantaire has more information than he does. Maybe they’ll torture him instead, as penance for taking Enjolras from them.

It’s all right. It doesn’t matter what they do, Grantaire tries to tell himself. As long as he hasn’t made a mistake. As long as a rescue crew _isn’t_ coming. Oh God, what if –

The door breaks in before his thought can finish. He’s never been more relieved to see unfamiliar faces.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like one of these days I'm actually gonna be able to describe sex explicitly, but so far all I can do is be vague and insinuate things. 
> 
> I also realise that this premise is very similar to [a Hamburr fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8271185) I did, and I don't have any real response to that beyond I LIKE ANGST. 
> 
> As always if you enjoyed this fic, please leave a comment! They don't have to be long or detailed, but I love hearing from people.


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